Secrets Uncovered
by bitchinblackframedglasses
Summary: Moriarty is defeated, Sherlock and John married, and Felicity is happier than she could have possibly imagined. Then, dark, ugly truths from the past come back, threatening to destroy the peace of their newly created family. A new enemy arises, identities are questioned, and secrets are uncovered. Sequel to Innocence Lost and Honeymoon. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Secrets Uncovered

* * *

"_No such thing as secrecy. I own secrecy. In a world full of locked doors, the man with the key is king." _

_-Moriarty_

* * *

It had been two long, wonderful weeks since Sherlock and John had gone on honeymoon. In those two weeks, Felicity had spent much of her time at the Holmes Estate. Even though she was very mature for her age, both Mycroft and Mummy refused to let her stay and run her experiments in Baker Street by herself. Because of their concern, she found herself having a fabulous time exploring the gardens with Mummy or reading with Mycroft. They were both around a lot more than they had been before the honeymoon, which confused Felicity slightly (After all, wasn't Mycroft the head of the British Government?), but she wrote off her thoughts as simply unnecessary. Mummy didn't work all the time, and neither did Mycroft. Both deserved a break, especially after the tumultuous times they had weathered up to the wedding itself.

However, as the two weeks moved into the final week of Sherlock and John's honeymoon, Mycroft started acting oddly. She found that he would find her in the house at least three times a day. He would find her, notice what she was doing, and then leave. It was very odd behavior. For one thing, he didn't even say hello. He thought he was being covert, but Felicity had ears like a bat thanks to the long hours she would spend in her room at Ruth's, listening for the other girls coming to bother her. Also, he would watch her for a moment, as if to make sure she was still there. Felicity knew that Sherlock and John could be protective, but the idea that they were having Mycroft check on her that often in a day seemed wrong to her. Both John and Sherlock knew that Felicity was independent; she could spend days by herself and be just fine. Why Mycroft was making such a fuss was beyond her.

Finally, John and Sherlock returned, and Felicity was incredibly happy. Both her fathers were tanned by the sun slightly (an odd look for Sherlock), were full of bliss, and asked her all about what she'd been doing and what she wanted to do next. Both were still harping on her to continue studying at universities, but Felicity was done looking at textbooks and memorizing diagrams. She wanted to travel, to experience things first hand. While books were wonderful things, she wanted a more physical approach to her learning from that point on. Experiments helped, but they weren't enough. While Sherlock and John had been gone, she'd taken a fascination with Charles Darwin and had spent a good week learning all about his life. She had therefore come to the conclusion that she wanted to be a naturalist, like he had been. She wanted to travel the world, as he had done, so that she could study the weather and the people she'd meet and the animals and _everything _she came into contact with. While Sherlock and John supported Felicity in almost everything she did, she was, after all, only twelve, and that was a little young for her to go off exploring on her own.

For a few days they bantered lightly back and forth about the whole idea, and, much to Felicity's confusion, Mycroft stayed and continued his routine of checking up on her. She had been _sure _that when her fathers returned Mycroft would give her a warm goodbye and would head back to London to go back to work. Instead, he seemed to be even more on edge. By then, it was obvious that he had a secret of some sort. He couldn't have been unhappy (his brother had just gotten married and he was dating Lestrade on the side), stressed (he wasn't working) or bored (Felicity's experiments kept everyone on their toes). So what was it? What could possibly be nagging at Mycroft so much? It was Felicity's newest mystery, and she was determined to solve it.

Right before she could corner him and demand to know what was wrong with him, Mycroft asked for Sherlock, John, Felicity and Mummy to meet him in one of the parlors, saying there was something they needed to discuss. John gave her an excellent piggy back ride there, and so Felicity was caught off guard when she saw Mycroft's face. It was stressed, solemn, and mask-like. Something was definitely wrong. "Problem, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, reverting back to his snide tone that he usually used when he was mocking his brother, but there was a note of worry in his voice. Sherlock was not an idiot, and he had recognized the signs that something was eating at his brother as well. However, he had also brushed the idea aside because he was still reliving the nights he and John had spent shagging.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Mycroft said gravely, looking away from his brother's piercing gaze to pick up a briefcase that was resting next to his armchair. He lifted the leather bag and opened it with an almost foreboding click to retrieve papers within.

"What's all this fuss about? You look like someone's died, Mycroft," John questioned, his grip on Felicity tightening subconsciously. The last death to affect them all had been Charley. They still visited his grave often and Felicity still wore his dog-tags constantly. His death was still a wound in Felicity's normally perfect façade, a wound that he couldn't heal no matter how hard he tried. It made him worry often about Felicity, even if she rolled her eyes and called him over-protective. Felicity, who was sitting on John's knee, stiffened a bit, resisting the urge to finger the chain of Charley's dog-tags. Instead, she studied Mycroft, looking for clues. When she glanced at Mummy for just a moment when she shifted in her chair, a thought struck her.

Mummy looked almost the same way. She wasn't nearly as grim looking, but she was completely calm, almost resigned. She too had been keeping a close eye on her, but Felicity hadn't minded that a bit- she and Mummy were friends and had done quite a lot together over Sherlock and John's honeymoon. However, her behavior mimicked Mycroft's, her first clue. Both of them had been keeping a close watch on her and now both of them looked disturbed by something, conclusion: it had something to do with her. That fact made her a bit sick to her stomach as dread seeped in. What had happened? What could have possibly occurred in such a short time that Sherlock and John were unaware? "It's to do with me, isn't it?" She asked almost before realizing she'd spoken at all, and Mycroft's fingers stilled in the files for a moment- _bingo. _She'd hit the nail right on the head.

"What?" Sherlock demanded, glancing from inbetween his daughter and his brother, coming to the same conclusion as Felicity had.

"Felicity, do you remember what your parents did for a living?" Mycroft asked, ignoring Sherlock completely to fix his gaze on her. Felicity blinked in surprise.

"Sorry, what? Their jobs?" She asked for clarification, and found it in Mycroft's solemn gaze. "Well, Charley always said that Dad was a businessman and Mum was too. They did a lot of business in London. Why?" She questioned, her curiosity starting to overcome her dread. Why would Mycroft ask after her long dead parents? It was strange. Mycroft cleared his throat, closing the file on his thigh before Sherlock could read it.

"Your parents were not businessmen, Felicity. They worked for MI5." Mycroft stated calmly, and Felicity stared at him as Sherlock snorted indignantly.

"Whatever her parents were involved in, Mycroft, is no concern of ours." He sent his brother a loaded look, clearly wanting him to back off and never speak of her parents again. He had already warned Mycroft never to ask Felicity about it as it was a touchy subject, but apparently he hadn't listened. Mummy sat up straighter, folding her hands, and Sherlock swallowed his tongue. He knew that look on her face from when he was a child- she was about to speak, which means that you were not, unless you wanted a verbal lashing.

"It is a concern of yours, Sherlock. It is a concern to all of us. While I like to give the illusion that I am retired, I still do some work for MI5 like your father and I used to do. I stumbled upon this problem at the same time as Mycroft." She explained almost blithely.

"Alright, enough beating around the bush. What's going on?" John demanded, still in worry mode.

"Felicity's parents, Mr. Henry Muller and Mrs. Nancy Muller, were involved in a program involving trade routes and partners in the Middle East who were suspiciously acquiring weapons from both America and Russia," Mycroft started. "It is our belief that they were compromised."

"What are you saying? That they were-," Sherlock cut himself off, suddenly paling considerably underneath the small tan he'd acquired while on honeymoon. John flinched as he realized exactly what Sherlock had seconds before. Felicity froze on John's knee, the fact slamming into her mind.

"You're saying that they were murdered," The words escaped from her mouth, quiet and hurt. She hadn't known her parents; she could barely remember them, but the idea that she could have had them in her life, that their deaths weren't just an accident, hurt her to the core.

"Yes," Mycroft agreed heavily. "Evidence collected at the scene suggested that the car crash was a well-planned attempt to kill not just your parents, but you and your brother as well."

Felicity instantly bit her tongue to keep from crying. It was ridiculous to do so- after all- that was in the past. It was done, over, nothing she could do about it now. Knowing that her parents were murdered hurt her, but surely MI5 had turned around and had either arrested or killed those responsible. While it was 'her concern' as it had already so delicately been put, Felicity tried to make herself believe that it was already over.

"The plan didn't entirely come to fruition at the time, and so MI5 opened an investigation and made sure to keep constant surveillance upon Charley and yourself. The situation was explained to him in the lightest terms possible, and it was thought that the situation was over. However, when we noticed that attempts were made to either kidnap or assassinate Charley, all of which said attempts were blocked by MI5 without Charley's knowledge, it was suddenly obvious that those who had killed your parents seemed to believe that Charley knew something as well." Mycroft continued speaking, his eyes on the closed file in front of him.

"And who was responsible?" Sherlock asked before anyone could say anything else, nothing but rage in his voice.

"You're missing the point, Sherlock," Mummy prompted quietly, hoping to redirect her son's anger appropriately. Sherlock glared at her instead. However, John got what she meant right away.

"Wait, you mean that Charley _did _know something?" He looked to Mycroft for confirmation, all the while holding Felicity closer, as if his arms alone could protect her from what the elder Holmes would say next.

"We never got a chance to ask him," Mycroft explained in heavy tones. "Whoever was responsible for the attacks must conducted research into the matter over the two year period that Charley raised Felicity on his own in an effort to confirm or deny if he knew something. They obviously reached the conclusion that he did, because in the time between Felicity's 8th birthday and the time he was deployed, assassins tried to either kidnap or kill him a total of ten times. For his own safety, MI5 requested that his unit was to be deployed to Kuwait."

"_What?!" _Felicity gasped before she even realized that she'd spoken. "Are you saying that Charley was deployed because people were trying to kill him? Why? What idiot- that only put him in more danger! It got him killed! Who thought that sending him away from his only remaining family would be safer than simply sitting him down and _telling him?!" _The words poured out of her, and the grief she'd been feeling seconds before was quickly transformed into anger.

"Mine," Mycroft said heavily, and the room went so silent, you could hear a pin drop. Felicity stared at him, unable to process what he had just admitted. The level of betrayal she felt was so high that she couldn't even put it into words. Fortunately, Sherlock could.

"How dare you," he hissed, half rising out of his seat, his eyes burning in his face. John's back had snapped into a military hold- he was just as angry; Felicity could feel him shaking slightly. Or maybe that was her- it was hard to tell. She blinked furiously, looking at the floor, her anger suddenly vanishing, coming back to her as grief.

"Charley would be on a NATO base- one of the safest places in the world, regardless of the fact that he would be in a war zone. His unit was only to be used in times of dire need, and because he was in an armored unit, there were adequate protections in place if he were to be needed off-base. While I may have extreme power here in England, I only had a hand of influence when it came to getting favors done through NATO, especially because it was a US base. Meanwhile, Felicity was going to be extremely well protected by a school designed to educate some of the most powerful children in the world. She would also have my constant surveillance, as well as yours, Sherlock and John. It was the best plan on the table, and so I approved it." Mycroft spoke in a flat tone, even though his words were meant to be persuasive. Very few of his plans had ever failed, and this failure had cost him, and his loved ones, the most. Silence stole across the room as he finished his argument. Almost unconsciously, Felicity gripped the dog-tags she never took off through her shirt, still resisting the urge to cry.

"He wasn't assassinated, was he? Charley?" She asked, managing to look Mycroft right in the eye.

"No. I can assure you that he was simply killed in war." He answered firmly, and she felt herself relax slightly. It was morbid to think of what manner of death for her brother she would prefer most, but Felicity felt that dying for one's country was better than being killed simply because someone wanted you dead. At least he had distinction, and had fought bravely to save others before he was shot.

"If you _ever _keep a secret like this from me again, I will make life very, _very _difficult for you, Mycroft. Am I understood?" When Sherlock spoke, his words were like ice, and were so deadly that they made Felicity shiver.

"Perfectly," Mycroft agreed dully, without fully acknowledging Sherlock's threat. Sherlock stood abruptly and paced furiously, muttering under his breath as he put pieces together in his mind palace.

"Are you ok, Felicity?" John asked quietly in her ear, breaking Felicity out of a trance. She could just picture Charley's last moments (it didn't help that they had been the subject of her nightmares for a long time), and when Mycroft had brought the subject back up she couldn't help but torture herself by imagining what it must have been like. Felicity pressed back against his chest, curling up further on his lap, wishing she could bury her face into his jumper like she used to.

"Yes," she answered, voice strained.

"No she's not, John, look at her. Paleness, trembling fingers, resisting the urge to cry by biting her tongue and pressing her fingernails into her palms- it's all very obvious," Sherlock ranted at a blistering pace as he continued to stalk around the room.

"Come here," John requested, opening his arms wider, allowing Felicity to turn around and hide her face when she twitched visibly in distress at Sherlock's deductions.

"I'm afraid there is more to this. However, if you don't wish to continue, Felicity, I understand," Mycroft said quietly after a moment, his voice unusually compassionate for a man in his position. Usually he delivered all the facts in a cold, uncaring debrief. Now, every word he said hurt him almost as much as it hurt Felicity. He had to carry this secret from Sherlock ever since he went to visit the two of them to make sure that his brother wasn't going to accidentally kill an interest of MI5. Felicity had been seven at the time, and seeing her grow up with such a harsh secret kept from her had added a heavy burden of stress to Mycroft's life.

"What is it?" Felicity asked into John's jumper, keeping her tone mostly level while being able to let her face contort with grief without anyone seeing. She heard Mycroft take a deep breath.

"The group that assassinated your parents believes that you know something as well."


	2. Chapter 2

Horror filled silence spread through the room, and John's grip on Felicity suddenly became so tight that it was almost suffocating. Sherlock's pacing instantly stopped, his feet pointing him in the direction that faced his brother. He had to see the truth on his face to fully accept that some group of monsters was after his daughter. The confirmation in Mycroft's eyes made his heart go cold in fear. "Called the Blochados, this group is a confirmed terror cell. Their operations have involved gathering weapons from Russians and Americans, manufacturing bombs, forging money, etc. Their most recent plan was responsible for the attacks upon double-decker buses in 2005. Because we reduced our efforts to follow this cell to just observation, their renewed interest in Charley and now Felicity have come as a surprise." Mycroft informed them in a heavy tone.

"Are you absolutely sure they are after Felicity? Maybe they are unaware that Charley was killed and are just looking for him," John argued, and Mycroft grimaced.

"I wish that could be true, John. However, our surveillance picked up a report that shows with undeniable proof that the Blochados have been digging into Felicity's past. They confirmed that you and John adopted her," Mycroft told Sherlock as the detective let out something that was a mix between a hiss and a frown.

"Do you have any idea what they want to know? What they think _I _might know?" Felicity asked, voice hoarse. Despite all of the support around her, she was forcibly removing herself from her emotions. She couldn't bear to think that her parents had been murdered, her brother killed in a misguided attempt to keep him safe. She knew that none of this was Mycroft's fault- no one could have prevented what occurred. She had to press on, to end the threat before it grew bigger. She couldn't let her nagging terror of being hunted by a terror cell eat at her until she could react privately.

"Yes." It was Mummy who spoke up, who had remained silent for most of the exchange. As soon as she spoke, some of the tension left Mycroft, and some of Sherlock's anger seemed to deflate. In her presence, everything seemed to find some sort of order, no matter how chaotic things actually were. "Your parents had an informant who was a double agent among the Blochados. Apparently, your parents died to protect the secret of who that person was." Mummy's voice was solemn, but brisk.

"This is ridiculous! You two are expecting Felicity to remember something that happened to her _parents, _not to her, but to her parents when she was only five?!" John sounded like each word was torture for him to say, and he gripped Felicity tighter. Her face was still buried in John's jumper so that her face could twist with grief without anyone seeing. She was putting forth her best effort to remain emotionless, but with each second they discussed the conditions of her parent's murder, the worse she felt.

"No, John. We aren't expecting anything from Felicity because this is not her burden to bear. The Blochados are the ones who are expecting Felicity to know of this informant. As of this moment, we are unaware if their claim is true or if it is more desperate hope than reality." Mycroft replied, voice cool.

"You think they have a reason to believe that Felicity could know this person?" If Mycroft's voice was cool, Sherlock's was icy. His glare was trying to cut Mycroft to ribbons as he moved to stand behind John's chair, placing a protective arm on the back of it as he spoke.

"That depends if Felicity can answer a few questions for us." Mummy replied, her voice unexpectedly gentle. "If you remember your parents talking about anyone, if you remember a name, a face, anything, that might be our clue. You are very intelligent, Felicity, and even at five years old you may have remembered something without even realizing it."

After a moment to rearrange her expression, Felicity removed her face from John's jumper and faced Mummy and Mycroft, holding tight to John's hand. She could feel her grief building, and knew that she wouldn't be able to keep up appearances for long, but her heart still insisted that she try, for everyone's sake. Breaking down into a sobbing mess would make all of the people she loved around her feel terrible. The information they had burdened her with was just as horrible, but it was only because they wanted to protect her. "Nothing stands out; I'm sorry. Besides, my memories of the last few weeks that my parents were alive hardly exist anymore. The 'accident' made sure of that." She ended bitterly, forcibly wiping away tears.

"Maybe the only reason why they want to find Felicity is to ensure that she _doesn't _remember anything. Have you thought of that?" John asked, and Mycroft glanced at Mummy before replying.

"Of course we have. We looked over every scrap of information we have, trying to figure out what the Blochados want with Felicity. Our only conclusion is this- that they are still seeking the identity of their double agent. According to MI5 records, Felicity's parents were in contact with this informant often, but they never listed a name, photo, or address, to protect their anonymity. Without MI5 files to steal, this terror cell is doing everything in their power to hunt down someone who would know the informant. Their strongest lead is Felicity."

As Mycroft said 'hunt down', Sherlock noted how Felicity flinched in a barely perceptible movement, looking down towards the rug. That was the last straw for him. He and John had barely had time to breathe since returning from their wonderful honeymoon, and already things were thrown into chaos and Mycroft and Mummy were making his personal sun frightened. That would _not_ do. "That's enough," he interjected sharply, going over and taking Felicity's hand. "If you have no more secrets that endanger my daughter's life to tell us, then we're leaving." He declared, and Felicity's grip tightened on his hand in a silent thank you.

"I must insist that you not leave the Estate," Mummy said instantly, and Sherlock scowled.

"Don't be dull- of course we're not leaving. Felicity simply needs time to be away from all of this. You cannot dump horrible information on her and then expect her to be able to give you what you want." Sherlock snapped, and for once stood up to Mummy's cool look in response to him calling her 'dull'. It was one of the few times he could get away with being even the tiniest bit rude to her. However, her cool look smoothed off her face as she glanced at Felicity, sitting pale and still on John's knee.

"Of course. Felicity- we are very sorry for this awful news- my condolences." Mummy told her softly, and Felicity barely had a chance to offer her a weak, sad smile before Sherlock was practically towing her out the door, John just behind. Once they were a few stories up, in Sherlock and John's bedroom, Sherlock released her hand only to hug her hard. Felicity, who had been expecting an interrogation, relaxed into the hug, grateful that Sherlock wasn't hounding her for answers- not yet, anyway. She knew that the identity of the double agent was key to getting this terror cell off her trail. If she could remember who they were, if that was even possible, the identity could be used to free her from the Blochados scrutiny.

"I will never let anyone, much less these 'Blochados' hurt you," Sherlock's deep voice vowed in her ear, and Felicity felt herself relax further, her fear starting to vanish. She knew that along with trying to comfort her, Sherlock was deadly serious. She knew that both he and John would go to the ends of the Earth to keep her safe.

"Besides, here, with Mycroft and Mummy and all of MI5 with us too, you are probably safer than the Queen," John reasoned, and Felicity smiled into Sherlock's shirt, knowing that he would feel it and feel better knowing that she wasn't quite as scared anymore. True to her prediction, Sherlock pulled away and smoothed her hair.

"However, Felicity, what you told me before has never been clearer to me. John and I cannot hunker down with you like cowards and expect life to be simple and safe for the next few decades. We need to face this problem head on, and that is why I must ask you to go through your mind-skyscraper to look for _anything _that might help us to figure out who the informant is. Alright?" Sherlock requested, looking at her face carefully for distress or fear. She knew that trying to keep a perfect face in front of Sherlock would never work, but she gave it her best effort anyway, ignoring the pang of sadness that washed through her. She had almost never gone through her childhood memories with only the intent to view them- her parents were gone and nothing was going to change that. She'd avoided those memories in an attempt to remain free from the influence of her parent's deaths.

"I understand and agree," Felicity said quietly, shooting a sad smile at John when he went to interject. Placating John would be the last step she had to take before retreating to the skyscraper. Comforting John, her human side, was almost better than comforting herself. "This has to be done sometime, John. The circumstances of my parent's deaths are unfortunate and very sad for me, but it changes nothing to the fact that they are dead. The only way to get justice for them is to do what is required of me." She told him, and John grimaced.

"I'm still worried about seeing the memories themselves- that's going to be hard for you. If it becomes too much, please stop, Felicity. I don't want this to hurt you." John insisted, placing one hand on Sherlock's shoulder and one hand on hers, her hurt shoulder from Moran's attack. That silent and unintentional reminder gave her only another reason to ignore John's advice. She would be extremely thorough in order to try to gain as much information as possible to help Mycroft's search.

"It won't," Felicity lied blatantly, but once John had gotten his point across with one last look, he didn't push her on it. Instead, he gave a military style nod and released his grip on their shoulders. Sherlock stood back up to his full height and wrapped an arm around John's waist. "I'm going to go over all of my memories now; it'll probably take a while, and I know you are dying to look at Mycroft's files more closely. By all means, go ahead. I'll be fine here," Felicity pushed, reading Sherlock like an open book. Besides, for this, she wanted to be alone- no distractions, and no one to see her fall into misery- if that were to happen. She hadn't seen these memories in ages, and she didn't know how she'd react. That scared her almost more than her current threat.

Sherlock stared at her a moment, calculating. Yes, he wanted to see the file, and badly. That aside, he had some strong words for Mycroft that neither Mummy, John, nor Felicity could ever hear him say. He didn't want to leave Felicity as she went through something so horrible and sad, but he had to- time was of the essence. "Promise that you'll come find us if you are distressed?" Sherlock bargained, and Felicity solemnly held out her hand to shake on it, making Sherlock's lip twitch with amusement. He kissed her forehead, and then John did as well before they departed with faces that were grim as soon as the door closed behind them.

"You're going to yell at Mycroft, aren't you?" John asked in an undertone as the two of them set off down the hallway. Sherlock gave a half angry and half dismissive flick of his head in reply, face a grimace. That was all the answer that John needed, and his arm shot out to stop Sherlock. "Can you just wait for a second? We need to talk about this," John insisted, and Sherlock's eyes flashed with irritation, his posture tensing.

"What is there to discuss, John?" He asked in a bored tone, starting to revert back to the stubborn, arrogant man he'd been before any of this happened. It made John's hackles raise slightly- Sherlock hadn't used that tone with him in a long time. Besides, if he was reverting to going on the offensive, his consulting detective was probably a lethal cocktail of emotions beneath the surface of his perfectly bored, superior look.

"Sherlock," John uttered softly, pity and a warning in his tone all at once. His tone made Sherlock's shoulders slump in defeat, his hand shooting up to grip John's tightly.

"We have failed as guardians, John! We first adopt Felicity and fail to notice a beating she received while at school. Then we letSebastian Moran," The name snarling off his lips, "take her, hurt her, nearly kill her. Finally, when you and I leave on honeymoon and return, we find that she was in danger the whole time we were gone!" Sherlock's voice grew more and more distressed, and John had to catch his other hand to keep him from tugging on his hair in frustration and worry.

"The world is certainly against us, but Sherlock, think rationally. There was nothing we could do to prevent that beating- you know that. Also, Moran wasn't our fault. He was a madman; he was unpredictable. You can't beat yourself up for any of that." John soothed, stroking the side of Sherlock's face, trying to soothe out the worry lines that his fingertips ran over. Sherlock deflated further, pressing his cheek to John's touch. "We need to do what we have always done- and that is move forward. Having a row with Mycroft might be satisfying, but that won't solve this any quicker." John reminded him, and Sherlock let out a slow breath, interlocking their fingers as his mind started to think in overdrive.

"You're right, John, as always," he murmured, staring at the hallway in front of him, eyes starting to glaze over as he thought frantically. He needed to strategize with Mycroft as soon as possible, not yell at him, no matter how he longed to vent his displaced anger. John smirked at him slightly, kissing the skin by Sherlock's collar.

"I don't hear that enough, but thanks," John joked humorlessly, smoothing the fabric of Sherlock's expensive shirt. "Go on, think. I'll talk to your mother," John offered, but Sherlock's grip tightened, his mercury-gaze meeting John's.

"No, John. I want you with me. You mediate Mycroft and I beautifully, and while your temper has been known to rise, mine is much quicker to ignite when it comes to working with my brother. I need you," Sherlock insisted, and a warm feeling bloomed in John's chest.

"Of course," he acquiesced, and Sherlock wasted no time in dragging him down the hall, never letting go of him for a second.


	3. Chapter 3

_Felicity was spying._

_She was very good at it. Charley and Mummy were downstairs, working on dinner, and because Felicity was so small yet, she didn't have to help. Considering Daddy was still hard at work and Mummy and Charley weren't looking for her, she had ample time to sneak around. As of that moment, she was peeking through the crack in the doorway, watching her Daddy. He was seated at his desk, hunched over, staring at something. He wasn't writing or sleeping or anything like that- she could tell by the shape of his shoulders and his measured but still quick breaths. What was he looking at?_

_Curious, Felicity snuck silently around the door, trying to get a closer look without alerting Daddy that she was there. Finally, when she was too frustrated to admit defeat that she couldn't see, she decided to reveal herself. "Daddy, staring at that forever won't do anything," Felicity piped up, voice higher and more curious thanks to her young age. Too young to recognize why her Daddy's hand flew to the strange holster on his belt or why he flinched initially, she instead bounced over happily. Her Daddy chuckled, scooping her up. _

"_I know, love. I know," He said, kissing her hair. She giggled, bouncing on his knee. A hand reached past her and slipped a piece of paper out of a file folder, perusing it carefully. She glanced at it curiously. _

"_Daddy, that looks boring," she said, and he chuckled again, this time much more warmly. He planted another kiss on her, this time making sure to make it sound all wet and sloppy. "EW! Daddy- no!" she squealed, laughing helplessly._

…

"_Henry, you can't possibly suggest that-!"_

"_A safe-house won't __**work, **__Nancy, you know that. No one knows about our involvement. It's only for the night," Daddy was saying to Mummy in a hushed, excited kind of voice- except he wasn't excited like the time when her and Charley built him a sandcastle at the beach kind of excited. This was different. Felicity didn't like it. She stifled a yawn behind her hand, trying to be quiet, trying to wake up enough to listen more attentively. _

"_I won't risk it, Henry! Think of Charley and Felicity," Mummy hissed back, sounding cross, maybe even a little…scared? Daddy rubbed Mummy's arm soothingly- at least, that's what it looked like. In the dark of the threshold of the front door and over the sound of the light rain that was persistently falling, it was difficult enough for Felicity to hear them talking- never mind the rustle of cloth. The floor was cold under her feet, and she shivered, half dreaming longingly of her bed._

"_It'll be alright, Nancy. I promise. It's just for the night and then, in the morning, she'll leave first on the train. We'll follow in the car and it'll all be settled in London." Daddy's voice was soothing now, and Mummy sighed._

"_Alright then. I'll ready the guest bedroom. Be quiet- you know how light of a sleeper Charley is," Mummy said, and Daddy gave her a kiss, chuckling. Felicity, so caught up in her own amusement that they thought __**Charley **__was the light sleeper, didn't hide quickly enough into the kitchen as Mummy came back, and she froze, eyes flicking around the room. She'd seen Felicity's shadow._

"_Mummy?" Felicity asked, yawning into her hand, trotting out from behind the cabinetry. Mummy relaxed, kneeling down to straighten Felicity's nightgown. _

"_What is it, pumpkin? What are you doing out of bed?" Mummy asked, lightly fingering Felicity's vibrant red hair, inherited from Daddy, as she spoke. 'Pumpkin' was her favorite nickname for Felicity, and Felicity loved it too. _

"_I'm thirsty," she lied, but since she was still half asleep and a bit confused about what Mummy and Daddy were talking about, she sounded completely innocent. Mummy kissed her forehead before standing up, fetching a glass of water from the sink that Felicity had no hope of reaching herself. Scooping Felicity up in one arm, Mummy took the glass of water and carried her back to bed._

_Felicity was asleep before they got there, water forgotten._

…

Jerking herself out of the basement of her mind-skyscraper, Felicity ripped herself back into consciousness, quickly pressing a hand to her mouth to keep herself from sobbing out loud. There was a reason she never looked in on these memories, a reason why she always kept them locked away in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind. Felicity shakily stood, forcibly holding back tears by biting her tongue. She had to _think, _not cry. She tried to recall what she'd seen on that piece of paper her Daddy had been so interested in, but little bits of similarities she remembered between her parents and John and Sherlock made her bend over again, pressing in another sob. John always kissed her hair and was laughing, like Daddy always had been. Sherlock always kissed her forehead, just like Mummy had when getting her that water.

Felicity forced the memory away with all her might. _They are dead. Gone. It is useless to look back on the past. _She insisted weakly. Instead of focusing on the never-ending stream of affection her parents had bestowed upon her, Felicity once again tried to focus on what the paper had said on her Daddy's desk. Her memories, hazy and damaged by the concussion from the accident, had remembered more of her father then the paper, until she was focusing more on what her father's hands had looked like, so big and strong holding that piece of paper, instead of the words themselves. Those hands had tossed her into the air, given her piggy-back rides, given her more books to read…those hands had meant so _much _to her in that memory, so much so that now Felicity was longing to feel them again, to hear her Daddy's chuckle.

"Fee?" A voice called her name, touched her bare elbow, and jerked her back into reality. "Oh, Fee!" It was John, and he instantly enfolded her into a hug, seeing something on her face. Only when her cheeks were buried in comforting wool did she realize that she was crying. "You said you'd come and find us!" John was saying, sounding almost as distressed as she felt. He pulled her back to an arm's length for inspection. "Are you ok?" He asked, absentmindedly wiping tears off her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. Felicity opened her mouth and then closed it again, at a loss for words. Usually, John and Sherlock made everything ok , but now she wasn't so sure. She had doubts that they could fill the hole of Charley's passing, and they had. Now, she'd uncovered another hole, a hole that she'd buried away and made herself forget about for a long time. She wasn't sure if it could be filled anymore, even though Sherlock and John were her family. John was hugging her again, she realized dimly. "Fee, take it slow, alright? Mycroft and Sherlock found a lead that they're going to investigate, ok? You don't have to force yourself to look." John told her soothingly, pulling back again. "Ok?" John prompted, still looking worried.

"I—yes." Felicity managed, offering John a weak smile. John didn't smile back. His worried, 'doctor' face was still on as he rubbed her arms, examining her face with a clinical gaze. "You remember when you were worried that these memories would hurt and I told you they wouldn't? I lied- it hurt anyway," Felicity told him, and John tisked, kissing her hair. Felicity instantly bit her tongue, hopelessly sad that the action had only reminded her of her _real _Daddy. _He's gone- stop it! _She chastised herself, trying to relax under John's gentle hand.

"Come on," John requested, slipping his hand around hers, leading her out of the room.

"What's this lead they have?" Felicity asked, trying to distract herself. It was entirely possible that this 'case' could be solved without her having to look back on old memories at all. Sherlock _was _the world's only consulting detective, after all, and once he had a lead, information, data, he plunged ahead regardless of if anyone else understood. John tisked.

"There was a name of another agent, retired now, who used to work for MI5 with your parents. He might know something or he might even be involved with the Blochados. Either way, Mycroft and Sherlock are going to look into it." John told her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I suppose I can't go with, can I?" Felicity asked as her and John walked back into the sitting room where an hour or so before she had learned that her parents were murdered, not victims of an accident. Sherlock and Mycroft were talking in low, argumentative voices- Mycroft was pointing firmly at another file folder sitting on the table. At her entrance, Sherlock straightened; his stormy expression clearing as he turned to look at her.

"It will be safer for you if you remain here," he told her, coming over and placing his hands on her shoulders, automatically noting her slightly slumped shoulders, lightly reddened eyes, and the paleness of her face. "Do not strain yourself," he half warned, half implored as he pulled her into a hug. "While you remain here, you are safe. This group will not hurt you, I promise you that," Sherlock reaffirmed his earlier vow, hoping that he hadn't pushed her too hard or too soon. It was true that he was thirsting to get his daughter justice, but he was also reminded that revenge and solving the puzzle wasn't all that mattered here. Felicity's health, safety and happiness, above all, were the top priority.

"Be safe," Felicity requested when they parted, her eyes still full of misery. Knowing that she would need time to come to terms with the shocking developments of the day, Sherlock simply kissed her forehead before following Mycroft out the door. Before it could close completely, Mummy's slender hand caught it and she came into the room, expression kind.

"Felicity, could I talk to you for a moment?" She asked, extending her hand for Felicity to take. After glancing just once at John and getting an encouraging nod in return, Felicity took her grandmother's hand and let her lead her through the kitchen, out of a back service door, and into the rolling grounds of the Holmes Estate.

"Is this safe?" Felicity asked, glancing back at the house. Sherlock had told her to remain at the Estate, but she felt exposed outside on the grounds, even if they were securely guarded. Mummy didn't answer- instead, she just kept walking, getting them farther away and into the cover of a few trees. Only when they were truly alone did Mummy stop.

"I must apologize to you, Felicity. I am sure that I appeared to be very crass and uncaring as we told you about your parent's deaths, and for that, I am sorry. It was the quickest and most effective way of getting the information across. There are no perfect or nice ways to do such a thing, but the manner in which we told you was not the best it could have been." Mummy told her, and Felicity looked away, frowning. The apology was nice, but it nothing to fix what she really wanted to disappear- and that was the burden of knowing the truth.

"Thank you," she said listlessly when it was clear that Mummy was waiting for a response.

"There is one other thing," Mummy continued, tone getting even softer now even though she was talking as if rattling things off of a list- the effect was odd and almost uncaring. It was very…_Sherlock, _and that was comforting, in a way. When Sherlock was too blinded by sentiment to act like himself, Mummy filled in the gaps. "I understand that as you review these memories of your childhood, you will be thinking of your real mother. To keep you from as little pain as possible, I thought you should know my real name instead of calling me 'Mummy'. Although I am your grandmother in a manner of speaking, I figured you would want to know."

Felicity's head whipped around in surprise, relaxing under Mummy's slightly amused, warm gaze. Mrs. Holmes had always been 'Mummy'- Sherlock and Mycroft didn't call their mother anything else, Mr. Holmes was long dead, and anyone else who knew Mrs. Holmes that Felicity had met always just called her 'Mummy'- even John. Curiosity made her blood sing as Mummy continued to smile at her. "You don't have to tell me- I could always just give you a nickname of my own," Felicity offered. She assumed that Mummy had everyone call her as such because it offered some sort of protection- it seemed very Holmes-esque for her name to remain mysterious. While she appreciated that Mummy would give that up just for her, it didn't seem right.

"Oh, where's the fun in that? Besides, the look on Mycroft and Sherlock's faces when you call me 'Annette' will bring back old memories." _Annette _said cheerfully, and Felicity couldn't help the smile that spread over her face.

"French?" She questioned, storing the name away in her mind-skyscraper, and Annette beamed at her.

"Oui, ma douce," She said lovingly, in perfect French, as she took Felicity's hand again. "Ce sera notre secret," She continued, and Felicity heard herself laugh.

"For now, it will be. It won't be much of a secret when I start calling you Annette." Felicity countered, but Annette just smiled. The two of them strode back up to the house, one proud of her granddaughter, the other's heart slightly lighter than it had been before.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock, remember to mind your manners," Mycroft reminded him sharply as their car stopped outside of a very nice townhouse. Mycroft had gotten a name off of old MI5 files and as soon as he could confirm that the man had worked with the Mullers and was still alive, Sherlock had insisted that he talk to him. The distress in the younger Holmes' face was obvious, and Mycroft could only hope that he would at least try to be polite; the last thing they needed was Sherlock scaring off a witness because of his crass sentimental feelings for his daughter. To be fair, Mycroft felt just as angry for Felicity and was still slightly ashamed of how he had presented the information to her, but Mummy had assured him that she would take care of the apologies.

Sherlock sent him a vicious look as he got out of the car and into the slightly misty, cool air of Ilford, where this man lived. Sherlock could care less where they were, who this man was, or how Mycroft wanted him to act. All Sherlock needed to know was the connection this former agent had with the Mullers and if he knew anything about the informant Felicity's parents had been depending on. Slamming his door closed, he followed Mycroft up the stone walkway to the front of the house. It was bad enough that he had to work with his brother in the first place, but Sherlock actually needed him there. Mycroft's influence and position let him abuse his powers more than most- and if that abuse called for questioning a former agent at home about classified assignments, then that was Mycroft's purpose.

His older brother rang the bell and tapped his umbrella upon the expensive flagstone porch, expression bored. A moment later, a woman answered the door. She was about John's age, clearly rich, and cast a disdainful look upon the two Holmes brothers. "Can I help you?" she asked, tone already a dismissal.

"It is most urgent that we speak with your husband, Mrs. Wellembry." Mycroft told her, handing her his card. She glanced at it, her eyebrows rising as much as her Botox treatments would allow, before opening the door wider, an invitation for them to step inside. She took their coats and led them through an extremely nice house to an office, where she knocked.

"What is it, Pam? I'm on the phone," a man's voice issued from behind the door.

"Mr. Mycroft Holmes is here to speak with you," Mrs. Wellembry said, and after a moment, Mr. Wellembry called for them to enter. With that, Mycroft entered the office, Sherlock close behind. Mrs. Wellembry closed the door behind them.

Mr. Wellembry's office was large, with modern furniture that didn't quite fit with the old money feeling that the rest of the house provided. He was sitting at a chrome desk, talking on the phone. Papers littered the surface and two futuristic looking filing cabinets adorned the wall to his left. Besides some rather distasteful modern art and the two uncomfortable looking chairs in front of the desk, the room was rather bare. However, something instantly garnered Sherlock's attention and made his blood pressure spike. "Yes, fine, I'll send a car out there to pick you up. We'll see you later this evening." Mr. Wellembry finished his car and hung up before standing, offering a hand to Mycroft. "A pleasure to have you in my office, Mr. Holmes, and…?" He offered his hand to Sherlock too, but paused when the consulting detective refused to look at him or shake his hand. His eyes followed Sherlock's gaze to a picture on his desk.

"That's my daughter, Christina. A bit headstrong, but we love her anyway," Mr. Wellembry let out an obnoxious laugh, picking up the photograph. "Now, please, sit. What can I do for you?" he asked, gesturing to the two chairs in front of his desk. Mycroft sat, but Sherlock grasped the edge of the desk as if he meant to flip it, eyes suddenly burning with fury.

"You can tell me why your _daughter," _he sneered the word, "has gone unpunished for crimes and bullying she committed against _my _daughter, Felicity, at Ruth's Academy for Young Ladies." Sherlock hissed, and Mycroft let out a bored sigh, displeased.

"Sit down, Sherlock," he said tonelessly, knowing that he would be ignored. Mr. Wellembry blinked.

"Who, Christina? She wouldn't hurt a fly! I take it your daughter is a classmate of hers?" Mr. Wellembry asked, looking more to Mycroft to avoid the furious gaze of Sherlock.

"Wouldn't she? She repeatedly harassed, bullied, and, at one point, led a gang-style beating against my daughter before her graduation. She has caused my daughter great emotional and physical distress at a time when she lost someone very important to her," Sherlock was speaking in a low, dangerous voice then, leaning close to put the pressure on Mr. Wellembry. The man gulped, leaning away.

"Now is not the time, Sherlock. We have business to attend to," Mycroft rose his voice slightly in reminder, and Sherlock whipped around to glare at him.

"You knew, didn't you? Why bring me along if you knew?" he spat, and Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"I was hoping that the love you feel for Felicity would push you to remember your place and purpose for coming here, not blind you with foolish sentiment. We are here to enquire about the Mullers, not your pointless need for revenge." Mycroft deadpanned, and Mr. Wellembry blinked.

"The Mullers? I used to work with them- is that why you're here?" he asked, and Mycroft nearly sighed out loud, disappointed with this man's dull mind.

"Yes. They were working on a top-secret project for MI5 that led to their deaths. A group involved in their case has resurfaced, and any information the Mullers may have told you would be helpful in their apprehension. We are looking in particular for the name of an informant, a person who was not loyal to the goings on of this organization and who leaked information to the Mullers." Mycroft summarized as Sherlock remained standing, still with rage. Mr. Wellembry scratched the side of his head, looking bemused.

"An informant, huh? I can't think of anyone off of the top of my head. The Mullers were very dedicated to their work- and if they really did have an informant like that, someone _that _important, they certainly wouldn't tell me," Mr. Wellembry told Mycroft, still trying to ignore Sherlock as much as possible.

"Please think very carefully, Mr. Wellembry, and take your time. You must be absolutely certain that you know nothing." Mycroft said in a clipped tone, his patience already starting to snap. Usually, he would be much calmer- but even though he had openly mocked Sherlock for getting angry in Mr. Wellembry's presence, the government official was also furiously angry with what the man in front of him had let his daughter do to Felicity. He was border-lining on dangerously angry, where the idea of using recourses meant for national security might end up being used to prosecute Wellembry instead of fulfilling their intended purpose. Once the investigation involving the Blochados was over, Mycroft swore to himself that he would make Wellembry pay- with his job and a few lawsuits.

"Hmmm," Mr. Wellembry mused, eyes traveling around the room. "Would you gentleman like a drink while I think? A little liquor has always helped get me get the gears turning," he offered, and to keep Sherlock from erupting like a volcano (he was nearly there), Mycroft hastily declined for the both of them. Mr. Wellembry went to get a drink anyway, giving Sherlock a moment to lean down by his brother's ear.

"As _soon _as he isn't necessary- I'm going to make his life hell." Sherlock promised him in a dark voice, and Mycroft gave him a wry smile.

"I'll help you," he promised, letting the sincerity in his tone show Sherlock that he was just as angry- he was just handling it better. To be fair, he _did _know beforehand who Mr. Wellembry was, but Mycroft reasoned that Sherlock really did need to learn his manners. Mycroft looked away from Sherlock's surprised but mostly pleased expression to face Mr. Wellembry politely when he returned. He was sipping cognac from a glass tumbler, his eyes fixed to the ice inside the crystal.

"You know, Henry and Nancy Muller seemed average and normal most of the time- even at work in stressful situations. There was only one time I ever saw Henry where I thought something more was going on. Whether that means he just had a real good poker-face or if something was really happening I don't know." Mr. Wellembry thought aloud, sitting on the edge of his desk, loosening his tie. Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes at the old-American style gangster theatrics, but thought better of it- for Felicity's sake. "One night, working real late, Henry got a phone call that got him real hot and bothered. I had never seen him so upset at work before- and Nancy had called him _twice _saying that her water had broken and their babes were on the way."

"Did he explain the phone call at all?" Mycroft probed, and Mr. Wellembry shrugged.

"Not really. He spoke real quietly and as soon as he got off the phone he told me he had a family emergency and that he needed to leave. He rushed out of the office like a bat out of hell. The next day he seemed perfectly fine- but I never got to ask him about that phone call. I had the next day off and he had vacation time the day after. He and his wife and kids got into that horrible accident that day- I never did speak to him again," Wellembry revealed, and Sherlock's temper exploded.

"And that sequence of events did not seem suspicious to you _at all? _You didn't attempt to tell anyone about what had happened and you couldn't piece together in that miserably small brain of yours that the two events could be related? That the Muller's deaths could have been anything other than accidents?" Sherlock hissed, rounding on Mr. Wellembry, who raised his free hand quickly in defense, taking a sip of his cognac.

"He said it was a family emergency and I believed him! Nothing meant more to Henry and Nancy than their families. I thought one of the kids got hurt or something of that nature- I couldn't just wildly assume something was wrong! Wait- was something wrong?" Mr. Wellembry asked, sounding derailed as his mind caught up through Sherlock's words. Mycroft threw Sherlock a dirty look, displeased that Mr. Wellembry was learning more than he needed to know. It was all very elementary and sloppy.

"Yes, we have reason to believe that the Mullers were murdered, Mr. Wellembry. You now understand the nature of our urgency for you to remember anything you thought was pertinent to the informant we are looking for. Is there _anything _else you could tell us? We wouldn't want to take up too much more of your time. After all, I do believe your daughter is coming home for the weekend." Mycroft said smoothly, yet with a hint of steel to his voice that sounded like the perfect amount of a threat. Mr. Wellembry rubbed his neck.

"Oh, well, um, he did say a woman's name- I remember that much. On the phone. It wasn't Nancy, I know that much- but I didn't hear anything clearly. That's really all I remember," Mr. Wellembry managed, sounding abashed now. Mycroft offered him a thin smile, getting to his feet.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Wellembry. We'll be in touch if we need to speak with you again." Mycroft told him, a clear dismissal. Mr. Wellembry was all awkward nodding then, blabbering nervously as he showed them the door. As soon as they were in Mycroft's car, Sherlock exploded.

"If you _ever_ do something like that to me again, I will physically hurt you, Mycroft. I swear I will," Sherlock swore at him, flinging himself into the expensive leather seat with such a furious expression his scowl was threatening to stay permanently imprinted on his face.

"Grow up, Sherlock. Mr. Wellembry may be an idiot and he may be a bad parent, but scaring the man into submission will not change the fact that his beast of a daughter hurt Felicity." Mycroft threw at him, half wishing he had accepted some of the cognac to help him calm back down.

"We can't let them get away scot free," Sherlock argued, and Mycroft just rolled his eyes, tapping his umbrella on the floor of the car. "Bravo, by the way, calling her a beast," Sherlock added, half under his breath, and Mycroft's lips twitched upward in a smile. With that admission, the two brothers spent the rest of their ride in silence, trying to decipher any new clues from the information Mr. Wellembry gave them.

…

Time was ticking by incredibly slowly.

Felicity had spent the entire rest of the day waiting for Mycroft and Sherlock to return. Considering the entire bombshell of information that had changed her life had only arrived late morning, she had figured that by the time they had left (around 3pm) they would be back before 8 o' clock at night, giving her 5 hours to burn. However, it was edging close to nine thirty, and John had been shooting meaningful glances at her for the past half an hour, trying to mentally urge her to go to bed.

Annette was reading in French to her, a lovely story about the history of Bordeaux, but other than the soothing quality of her voice, Felicity wasn't interested. She wanted to know, badly, if Sherlock and Mycroft had gotten any more information. If they had a good, solid lead, she might not have to dig into further childhood memories. The idea of doing so, of causing herself more pain, was almost unthinkable.

Already the memory of her Mummy getting her a glass of water and carrying her to bed burned her memory. She had forgotten for so long just how much she had lost. Felicity had tried to follow the usual stereotype that children that young remember very little about traumatic events like that because they are too young to understand, but she _had _understood. She hadn't had that safety net of ignorance to keep her safe from hurt.

Her mind swirling over the scene of her Mummy getting her a glass of water played in her mind over and over until Annette's soothing voice slowly lulled her to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_It was very early morning when Felicity woke up. Her bed was very warm, and she almost nodded back off again until she noticed a glass of water sitting on her nightstand that hadn't been there before she fell asleep. _

_Intrigued, she sat up, whisking the covers silently off of her as to not wake up Charley. Hazy memories of waking up in the middle of the night to Mummy and Daddy talking were now fresh in her mind- as were the unanswered questions. Now that she was completely awake, it was obvious that Daddy had been convincing Mummy to let someone stay over for the night. The floor was cold on her bare feet, but she forced herself to sneak silently and slowly out of their room to see if Mummy and Daddy- or, more importantly, their mystery guest, were up yet. _

_There were voices coming from the living room, hushed ones, and Felicity crept closer, ears pricked. A woman was speaking that was not her Mummy, and Felicity thought back to her parent's conversation she'd overheard. A woman was staying with them for the night and then…what? She couldn't remember…_

_._

_Charley was running across hot desert sand, a large rifle strapped to his back. He was running for a heavily armored tank. His boots slipped and slid in the ever-changing sand, and his dog-tags were clinking around his neck as he panted, running and running and running…_

_._

"_What should we do in London today?" Mummy was asking as they drove along. The country was slowly morphing into urban development as they got closer and closer to the heart of England. Daddy had to go to work, but Mummy was going to take them out for a day in London! The excitement was so thick in the air, Felicity had to remind herself to sit still. _

"_The Zoo!" Charley crowed, drumming his heels on his seat. _

"_Felicity? How does the Zoo sound—__**Henry, look out!**__" Mummy was suddenly screaming. The tires were screaming. Mummy was screaming, screaming-_

_._

"Felicity! _Felicity!" _A voice was yelling over the screaming. Hands were touching her, holding her, and through her disorientation, Felicity realized that she was flailing in their grip, the screams coming from…_her. _She was screaming because she could still remember the blare of a horn in her ears, the crunch of metal. She had _never _had that dream before- she'd never been able to recall the accident. Why was she remembering it now? New hands, cooler ones, grasped her face, slipping slightly on tears until they got a good grip. Irrational fear had her struggling for a moment against the hands holding her, wrenching her hurt shoulder in the process, until her eyes snapped open.

John was half kneeling over her, his hands firm on her wrists, keeping her from hurting herself. His expression was horrified and blanched with worry. Leaning directly over her, hands holding her head steady, was Sherlock. She could make out fear in his gaze as his eyes whizzed over her, able to deduce but helpless when it came to anything else. It took a few more gasps for her to relax completely, and once she closed her eyes, John slowly let go.

"What is it? Felicity, what's wrong?" John asked very quietly, sounding frightened.

"We were going to the Zoo," she heard herself whimper, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to shut out the memory, but it was useless. Now that it was engrained in her mind-skyscraper, it would never leave, even if she deleted it. There was no way she could forget the oncoming, blaring horn, the grill of the truck, her mother's scream. Sherlock's grip tightened on her as he put the pieces together before John.

"You dreamed of the accident?" He asked, sounding astounded. She'd told him many times that she had tried to remember to make Charley feel better, to satiate her own curiosity. Hours of meditation had been unable to give her the memory she wanted to see. The fact that now, after one dream, she had seen it all, scared her, made her feel like she was losing her mind- and without that, she was nothing.

"Oh, _Felicity," _John breathed, sounding horrified and sad as he took her hand and gave it a good squeeze. "Do you want to tell us about it?" He asked quietly as Sherlock slowly let go of her head, withdrawing with an air of caution. John felt that same caution. When he had been pushed into therapy after being shot, the _last _thing he had wanted to do was talk about his PTSD, how he felt about his dreams. He still hadn't talked about it. The only person who had come close was Mycroft, oddly enough. He'd picked up on the fact that John missed the war instead of being plagued by it. Sherlock knew as well as Mycroft (if not more so), but had the grace not to comment on it. Instead, he'd slowly fixed John over the span of two or so years.

"No!" Felicity insisted, eyes flashing open. True to John's prediction, Felicity shut down, her face smoothing out and her posture tightening. She was becoming the icy, queen-like persona she'd worn for Ruth's Academy, and both John and Sherlock hated to see it. Felicity took several forced, deep breaths to lock her emotions away. It was too terrifying. She wouldn't address it. She couldn't.

"Felicity, I cannot let you carry this burden alone," Sherlock spoke up in a firm voice, surprising John. He thought for sure that Sherlock would let it go, seeing Felicity's discomfort. The fact that he hadn't told John that Sherlock was much more worried than he had thought. Felicity stared at him, looking flat, angry, and scared all at the same time. "I will not let your fear destroy you." Sherlock continued, not breaking eye contact. "You have seen before that repressing how you feel is only detrimental." Sherlock pushed in a stronger tone when he saw Felicity beginning to waver- the tension was starting to leave her shoulders and her face, where before it had looked icy and stern, now looked as if the lightest comment could crack her façade.

"We were all in the car together." She said finally, looking away from Sherlock and instead focusing her gaze on her rumpled sheets. "My father had to work, but my mother was taking us into London with him because it was her day off. We were probably going to meet up later for dinner," Felicity's voice wavered, and she swiped furiously at her eyes, forcing herself to take deep breaths and think only of how much she trusted John and Sherlock for a moment; it would keep her from breaking down sobbing. "Then the truck was there- blaring the horn. Mummy was _screaming." _Felicity's voice cracked, and so did her façade, her face crumpling with grief. John instantly tugged on her hand until she was embraced in his arms.

His expression drilled into Sherlock, and its meaning was quite clear. _Leave it alone. _He was referring to the questions Sherlock was burning to ask her about any memories she might have of a woman, any woman at all, who seemed odd. Although Mr. Wellembry was an idiot, he had provided that vital clue- the informant, the double agent, had been a woman. He currently had Mycroft going through all records and information possible on the Blochados, looking for any mention of a woman operative, but the search was slow and most likely unreliable. The men paid to do surveillance on anyone who was under suspicion of being a Blochados member weren't very bright. They would have tagged anyone who came into contact with their original target, and they wouldn't have been required to find names or document where they were noticed. All they really did was take photos and track them around the city, looking for any unusual behavior. If they thought that they were planning a terrorist attack, the would then get MI5 involved, and even then most records were purged of addresses and names to protect privacy, even if the privacy being protected was that of a suspected terrorist.

Swallowing, Sherlock attempted to shove aside his current case, but it was burning inside of him, demanding to be solved. If it involved anyone else _but _Felicity, he could have easily ignored it or even dropped the case altogether. However, it was Felicity that was really in danger here- and he couldn't stand the feeling of her possibly being on a hit list, or watched by a terrorist group. Ignorance would have been bliss here, for both Sherlock and Felicity. If they had never pushed her to remember, they might have been able to convince anyone watching that Felicity was unaware of any double agents or terror cells. Regret sprung up in Sherlock, but he quickly shoved it aside. If there was a danger to Felicity, he would go to the ends of the Earth to destroy it- and even if it hurt Felicity a little in the process, he'd rather that she didn't have incalculable danger hanging over her head for the rest of her life. John saw in his face that he couldn't give it up, and frowned at him, holding Felicity closer, as if he could protect her from Sherlock's questioning.

"It's ok, Felicity; we're right here," John murmured comfortingly when Felicity hung on tighter in response to John holding her closer. When she mutely shook her head into his jumper, John kissed her head. "I don't want you trying to remember anything else any more, ok? This madness has gone on for long enough," John told her, but kept Sherlock's gaze. As the soldier, the doctor, the protector, John wasn't going to let Sherlock ask a question until Felicity wasn't so terrified, the case be damned. He knew that they were safe if not obvious at the Holmes Estate, and John could care less how long it took to resolve.

"But-," Felicity untangled herself from John and swiped at her eyes, taking in a shaky breath. "I have to end this. I have to- I've got more to tell you." She protested weakly, glancing at Sherlock.

"As do I," he told her, and John sent him a fierce look that Felicity did not miss. When Sherlock had come home in a rage from following the lead Mycroft had found, John had thought that it was just caused by Sherlock being in such close and long proximity to his brother. When he found out the truth, that Sherlock was furious because the man involved was the father of the girl who had tortured Felicity while at school, John had gone on his own little rage. The idea of telling Felicity that _now, _when she had just woken up from the nightmare were her parents died, reminded the doctor to lecture Sherlock on timing again.

"Sherlock, _no." _John told him, trying to reign in his temper. Felicity looked between the two of them, understanding instantly that they were keeping a secret, maybe more. A lot of her fear of losing control of her own mind was gone with her guardians there, and even though her sadness remained, she was more than used to working through grief.

"What's going on?" She asked, sitting up straight and wiping any remaining tears off of her face. "_What's _going on?" She repeated in a louder voice when Sherlock and John simply glared at each other, two warring sides with the same interest in the end. "If you don't tell me, I'll go to Mycroft. Or Annette." She threatened, and Sherlock blinked at her in shock, his war-like scowl at John falling away.

"What did you just say?" He asked in surprise, and Felicity huffed, sliding off the bed in search of a dressing gown.

"I said 'Annette'." She repeated tonelessly, her mind more on the search for Mycroft or his mother to find out what had happened when Mycroft and Sherlock left to investigate the lead. John obviously didn't want her to know, which meant that whatever they found would affect her only emotionally, not physically. His worrying was appreciated, but not what she needed right then. She needed something else to focus on besides the blaring of the approaching truck and her mother's screaming that still lingered in her mind. Sliding the dressing gown on with a wince thanks to the strain she'd put on her previously hurt shoulder, she straightened it briskly, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock's current bafflement. Even John was starting to forget some of his anger at Sherlock in favor of amusement and a smidge of confusion at Sherlock's reaction. "Now, are you going to tell me? Or do I need to get the answers myself?" She asked.

"Hold on- who is 'Annette'?" John questioned, glancing from Sherlock's still surprised face to Felicity.

"She told you?" Sherlock asked Felicity, looking floored.

"Who?" John asked impatiently.

"Mummy's real name is Annette. She told me yesterday when we went for that walk out on the grounds," Felicity said with equal impatience. When John just looked nonplussed and Sherlock still stared at her in surprise, Felicity turned and stalked out of the room, impatient to find out what had happened- she needed a puzzle to work on.

"She hasn't let anyone know her real name in decades," Sherlock told the air, not caring if John was listening. The detective's brow furrowed as he thought over ideas as to why. After a moment, John launched himself off the bed and after Felicity, determined to head her off with at least a warning as to how potentially harmful the developments in the case could be to her. He caught up to her a few hallways away.

"Felicity, wait. I don't want this to overwhelm you- you've already had enough for one day and it's not even late morning yet. Why don't you get some breakfast and clean up?" he requested, walking next to her when Felicity refused to stop.

"Because I need to know," she answered sharply, reflecting over John's words. It sounded like Sherlock and Mycroft had uncovered nothing but bad news. If they hadn't found out anything new, they would have told her immediately- so, she concluded, they must have made a breakthrough, but a disturbing one.

"Felicity," John implored, but she ignored him, going down to the sitting room first in hopes of finding the elder Holmes, and her guess was dead-on. He was sitting in an armchair, tea in hand while reading the paper with a grimace of distaste. Before he could wish either her or John a good morning or comment on what was obvious to him (Felicity's nightmare as told by her crumpled pajamas and deep bags), she cut him off.

"What happened yesterday?" She asked, crossing her arms with a mild pang of pain as her strained shoulder rotated. Mycroft's eyes flicked from her shoulder, to John, and then back to her face before setting down his tea with a sigh. He closed his paper with a few deft folds as well before directing his full attention to Felicity.

"The man who worked with your father in MI5 revealed to us that the double agent from the Blochados terror cell is most likely a woman." Mycroft summarized the most important information garnered from the visit to the Wellembry house, and Felicity narrowed her eyes. She knew that if they had any more information on the woman and if she was somehow tied to Felicity, Mycroft would have told her instantly. Therefore, he wasn't telling her what John was so angry about.

"And?" She asked, tone acidic. Mycroft ignored John's hasty glare in his direction, a last ditch chance to get Mycroft to shut up.

"He is the father of Christina Wellembry." Mycroft delivered with that same expression of distaste, and Felicity blinked at him, then her face smoothed over completely, the impenetrable mask. The only indication of her anger was the fact that her hands in her crossed arms formed into fists. "We will need to work with him for the remainder of the investigation until the informant is found." Mycroft added.

Without another word, Felicity turned sharply and left the room.

.

"_You better not be calling me unless you've got something important to say." The voice was rough, his English heavily accented. _

"_You can tell your friends to stop looking for the traitor. The Holmes brothers are involved- they came to me just this afternoon."_

_A beat of silence._

"_If anyone can flush this bitch out, it's them. Nice work, Richard." The accented voice replied, sounding pleased. "Did you tell them everything?"_

"_As much as I told you. They're still holed up in their estate with the girl, which makes me think that she knows and they are covering their asses. They'll find this woman soon, I'm sure of it." Richard replied._

"_We'll keep checking over the identities of any woman who ever helped us. Stalking hasn't helped us so far, but if this woman thinks that someone is closing in on her involvement, she might try to escape. We'll remain in touch, Richard. Salam, my friend." The accented voice wished, easily switching over to Arabic._

"_Salam." Richard replied, and hung up with a feral smile. Things would escalate now- there was no stopping the Holmes brothers- except, of course, when it came to cleaning up loose ends. If someone had gotten close to killing Felicity Muller before, it wouldn't take much more to finish the job- and Richard intended to do so._

* * *

**A/N: Ok, because your author is an _idiot_, this update is extremely late. Also, Valkyrie of the Dead was a kind enough soul to point out that I gave Wellembry the name 'Christina' in Innocence Lost and then 'Rebecca' in this piece because I suck at life. They are NOT two different people, and I am so sorry for confusing anyone. I've changed it to Christina, and that is her name. She also has a larger part to play, so keep your eyes peeled.**

**Are you getting some of the hints I'm dropping? I hope so. :) **


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